


A Matter Of Choice

by blacktea



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco goes to Azkaban AU, F/M, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 05:13:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3315416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktea/pseuds/blacktea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Life is not a matter of chance...it's a matter of choice." -Ka</p><p>Draco just got of Azkaban and his prospects aren't looking great. Fortunately The Quibbler is hiring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter Of Choice

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so I know where I want this to go, but I don't really plan on updating very soon. I figure if I have it out on AO3 maybe someone else can enjoy it. While I don't own Harry Potter, I did make up the goblin Fireroot. I also posited my own theory on certain aspects of wand making.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. The final story will be 5 or so chapters long.

"Well, here's your stop Malfoy. If you stop by Gringott's you can inquire to what is left of your assets after the Ministry claimed reparation. If I remember correctly there's enough for a cup of coffee and possibly a pastry of some sort."

Draco Malfoy just nodded. Finnegan was clearly enjoying himself. He'd been part of Potter's army. Draco had no way of knowing exactly why the Gryffidor hated him, but it wasn't really a very pressing concern for him.

His other 'escort' Creevy _gently_ poked him with his wand. "Remember that you'll be monitored closely this next year. Any crime you commit will send you back to Azkaban for good. You won't get off easy again."

Draco pressed his lips together. He had hardly considered any part of the last decade easy. 

And with that they apparated away leaving him standing in front of Gringott's a free man.

It hardly felt real. He was half convinced that they would return momentarily because it was the wrong day or they had released the wrong prisoner or some other contrivance.

But a quarter hour later he was still there and no one official looked ready to return him to Azkaban. Although he could tell most of the wizards entering and leaving the bank would be happy to volunteer.

He let out a small sigh. It was time to see how much the Ministry had left him. It may not have been much, but a cup of coffee did sound good.

Mostly out of habit he went to the goblin that had always handled his family's fortune, Fireroot. He froze just outside his office though. It was very unlikely the goblin would see him now. Dealing with customers was actually very much beneath his station. He'd only dealt with his father directly due to vast amount the bank had made off the interest accruing from his family's fortune. There would be no reason to see him now.

"Ah. The young Malfoy has come to see me. Very good. I thought you might be by today after I heard about your release."

Draco blinked. Apparently while he had been dithering Fireroot had simply opened his door and decided to invite him into his office. "Thank you for seeing me." He was amazed at how rough his voice sounded. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd really spoken to anyone.

Surprisingly the old goblin just smiled. "Of course. I've been working with your family since your grandfather was a baby."

Draco carefully entered the office he could remember from many childhood visits. It even smelled the same: slightly bitter, but in a pleasant way. He carefully sat down on the chair his father had always chosen. He was surprised to find it was smaller than he remembered it looking.

He folded his hands together and straightened his shoulders. "I've come to inquire about the state of the Malfoy fortune."

Fireroot frowned. "There isn't much to say I'm afraid. The Ministry took almost everything. The contents of all the vaults were claimed and sold as were the vaults themselves. The Manor was literally torn apart and sold for the wood of all things. They probably would have tried to sell the land as well, but it was impossible for them to claim it as your family has lived there for over a millennia and it's not something that can be taken. Not with you technically being alive. They have managed to tie it up though. Said you would have to pay some ridiculous Reestablishment Fee."

Draco sighed. At least, he had his land: kind of. "Well, the Manor had seen better days." The Manor had been tainted by the Dark Lord. It would have been hard to live there. 

Fireroot made sad tut-tut noise he wasn't sure humans could manage. "It was a shame what Abraxas dragged your father into and even more so that did he did the same with you."

"Why don't you hate me? That goblin, Griphook, was a prisoner in our cellar."

Fireroot practically growled. "While I may have my issues with the established order, I was most unimpressed by that goblin's methods. I have worked with your family for a century. You may have had an obscene amount of wealth, but your father and his made sure to donate extensively to charities and organizations designed to help those wizarding families in most need. For all Author Weasley's animosity it was your father that provided the assistance he needed to send his children to school."

Draco blinked at that. It was probably for the best he had not known that tidbit in his youth. "But Father hated him."

The goblin shook his head. "Not really. Your father disliked a good number of people, but he rarely expended the energy to hate them. What he hated was the man's lack of sense. He didn't have the means to support that many children and therefore he should not have had them. His poverty was of his own doing."

"Huh." Draco had never really thought much on it, but it would explain why most of his father's grievances had revolved around the amount of Weasley children and their lack of funds. They had been blood traitors, but Lucius had only sparingly commented on that

 

"They left you a sickle and two knuts."

Draco almost managed to grin. "Oh, good. Maybe I can get a second pastry." 

"It seems that was some kind of joke, but I do not find this funny. Nor do I find it good."

And it wasn't really funny, but money wasn't everything. Family wasn't even everything. Nothing was entirely everything so it stood to reason he still had something. Like his ancestral land.

It was still kind of his.

"Sorry, Sir. I meant no disrespect."

The goblin's scowl loosened. "I know. I just find this situation distasteful. What do you plan to do now?"

Draco resisted the urge to shrug. In this room in front of this goblin he could practically hear his father telling him that indecisive words and actions were beneath him.

"I think I'm going to have a cup of coffee and a pastry or two. The food at Azkaban might be better described as slow acting poison."

"Well don't forget you're welcome to come back. I consider these last few years a setback. I look forward to overseeing your banking with us in the future."

That's how he found himself sitting in a dark corner of the Magical Bean. The waitress had not managed to bring his mocha to him before it cooled nor had she remembered to warm either of his pastries, but it was still better than what he'd been given in Azkaban.

"Draco... Malfoy?"

He snapped his attention from his tepid drink to the ever wide eyes of Luna Lovegood. She probably hadn't come out of nowhere, but it felt that way. She'd always been too quiet for his nerves. 

"Lovegood."

She seemed about as surprised to see him as he was to see her. 

"You're here for the interview?"

"Not really." He would think that it would be obvious. 

Surprisingly this actually seemed to take her aback. At least for a moment. It was disconcerting. As a girl she had been pretty much unflappable. 

She bit her lip in what might have been nerves before visibly steeling herself. "Well you're here. Would you like to be interviewed? The Quibbler has an open position."

Draco could hardly believe she was serious. Last he'd heard The Quibbler wasn't so much a business as her father's hobby gone awry. He couldn't imagine it had been a very profitable venture aside from those dark months when it literally had been the only source of anything resembling real news. And he wasn't entirely certain Lovegood had charged for those. 

"Can I first ask what exactly The Quibbler does? Its mission statement." Surely the intent hadn't been to be utterly ridiculous or sound like a mess of paranoid delusions. 

"The Quibbler seeks to bring hidden truths from out in the world to its valued readers. We at The Quibbler report what others are afraid to or have not thought to investigate. Our sincerest wish is to open the minds of our readership to the endless possibilities that they encounter daily."

Draco had to admit that sounded pretty good. Of course he'd seen the finished product so it was obviously a matter of execution. Or lack thereof, but he literally didn't have any other options. He'd always known Lovegood was odd, but he didn't think she would even consider hiring him after being held captive at his house. Finally he said, "Okay I'll bite. I think I would like to be interviewed for the position you have open."

When he was younger there was no way he would have considered such a thing. But there were worse things than being a laughing stock. It would be an upgrade to his current status as a leper. 

His ascent seemed to please Lovegood greatly. She all but clapped her hands together in childish glee. What kind of professional demeanor was that? Didn't she know how it came off? It made her vulnerable and open to attack. 

"Oh, I'm so glad you decided to. I have a good feeling about you."

Draco arched one pale eyebrow at that. No one had ever felt _good_ about him. Aside from possibly his mother. 

Lovegood ignored his disbelief entirely in favor of rummaging through what had to be the world's most ugly purse. He could practically feel his mother's spirit recoil in horror. The only thing that could be said for it was that it was large. 

She was equally adept at ignoring his horror and was soon pulling out a rather thick roll of parchment. 

"This is a list of questions my father compiled. He made me promise to use them to interview for this position. He charmed it so it analyzes the answers given and gives me a recommendation as to if I should hire the applicant."

Draco was reluctantly impressed. He'd never been the best at charms, but that had to be some seriously intricate spellwork. 

Lovegood seemed lost in thought for a moment. He was fairly certain her father was dead. That list may have been the last thing Xenophilius Lovegood ever did. But then she shook her head and her smile which had dimmed returned full force. 

"Alright first question. If you woke from a sound sleep with the notion an undiscovered creature was waiting in a dark corner of your room which item would you grab before investigating: A a wand, B a camera, C a knife, or D you would grab nothing. Please explain your reasoning."

"Are you being serious?"

"Of course. I always am."

Draco almost laughed. What happened to questions about work history and date of birth and life aspirations. Not that he had any of the first or many of the last. "Well if I had time I'd certainly grab my wand. Maybe even the knife."

Lovegood pursed her lips. "If you had time. Had time for what?"

"To escape the room of course. This question presumes I would needlessly endanger myself over something as banal as curiosity. I should hope not."

"Oh. No one's ever answered like that before."

Draco could hardly contain his disgust. While he didn't expect Lovegood to exhibit a whole lot of caution, it was disturbing to think no one had considered a safer approach. 

"Alright second question. If you could understand someone completely who would you choose: A yourself, B your lover or C your children. Again explain your reasoning."

"My lover obviously."

"What makes that obvious?"

"I've spent my whole life trying not to know myself. I don't think I would want to understand my children too well. I wouldn't be objective enough to properly discipline them. Understanding my lover would surely save me from headaches and bouts of miserable confusion."

Lovegood hummed in concentration as she wrote his answer down. 

"This one is more open ended. Is the glass half empty or half full?"

"I guess it would depend on if it started empty or full."

"It's supposed to be a metaphor for life."

Draco rolled his eyes. "And I extended it."

Lovegood sighed in what might have been frustration, but dutifully scribbled his answer down. "Which is better? To break a promise, but save a life or keep a this promise and sentence them to death?"

"Well it would depend on who I was saving. If I wasn't willing to die for them, I would keep my word."

Thanks to an old family curse, there was really only one way for him to answer that question. At least he hadn't had to think about it. 

"Your word means that much to you?"

"Malfoys lie, but we don't break our word. My father never once broke a promise." Although the only promise Lucius had ever really made had been to his wife on the day they got married. Implied understandings didn't count. 

"Really? That's fascinating. You worded that so carefully it practically vibrates with verisimilitude. But it doesn't seem to have anything to do with honor like one might expect."

Draco grinned. "I think honor is overrated." At least the selfless kind everyone seemed to want. "What's the next question?" The questions were weird, but he was almost having fun. 

"Which would you rather be remembered as: A heroic, B wise, C kind or D practical."

He didn't even hesitate. "Practical."

"But that's so boring!" Lovegood practically wailed. He knew he failing her father's quiz or whatever, but it was amusing to answer so contrary to how he should. Why did she care if he passed? 

Besides he was being completely honest. She should feel privileged. She hadn't even asked him to tell the truth and he was anyway. 

"Sure. But I probably end up living longer."

"Fine! Supposing you could save the world-

"I can't." And he didn't particularly want to. 

"Supposing you could save the world would you if meant endangering your family or would you choose not to knowing their safety was guaranteed."

"I obviously wouldn't. The world and I aren't on the best of terms currently."

"Do the ends justify the means?"

For the first time he couldn't look at her. Absently he picked at what remained of his Danish. Eventually he said, "Hopefully." Her quill scratched it down quickly. 

"What are your feelings on adventure?"

"I'd rather it didn't know where I live."

"Well that part's done. The next part is biographical."

"Wait. Why didn't you start with that?"

"Because Daddy put it in the middle. This way we get to start and end on a interesting note. This section is rather boring."

It was funny how put out she was. It was like mundane details were beneath her notice and eminently pointless. 

"Your legal name?"

"Draco Orion Malfoy."

"Is this your true name?"

"Of course not." True names weren't to be bandied about. The secrecy made sense; he had never understood the sheer length of his though. It would take him nearly a quarter hour to say it out loud. Not that he ever did that. 

"Do you have a home keyed to the blood of your family?"

"Not anymore."

"Has your family resided on the same land for over a century? If so, how long?" 

"Yes, for 1,243 years. Are these questions really necessary on a job interview?"

Lovegood fiddled with her tacky cork necklace. "These were the questions Daddy wanted me to ask."

He sighed, but nodded his acquiescence. He could respect her desire to honor her father. It was a bloody strange interview though. 

"Who started your line?"

"Mealltair Malfea. He was a celtic warrior who became a general under the Etruscan prince who obliterated his tribe as a boy. He was not born with that name. Other conquered tribes called him Mealltair meaning deceiver for his loyal service to the destroyer of their people. Later he claimed the name Malfea meaning 'bad faith' after slaughtering the prince, his 5 wives, and 37 children. The exact number of people his tribe had been. Ultionis est Nostra he said. Vengeance is ours. It's the family motto."

Lovegood seemed to ponder his answer for a moment before moving onto the next. "The next question is to list the names of his direct line."

"Sure I guess. Hand me that. I'll write them for you."

Her eyes actually somehow widened in shock. "You mean you know them off the top of your head?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

She just handed him the parchment and her quill. "No reason I guess. Everyone else had to go and do research. No one could trace their line back any farther than about five centuries ago."

"Can you?"

"Well Daddy's family served as spiritual advisors to the old Celtic chiefs. Mum's family goes back almost as far back as yours. They're practically royalty in wizarding Ireland."

He nodded and returned the list to her. He was relieved to return it to her. It felt alive with the level of magics Xenophilius Lovegood had put on it. 

"When were you born?"

"June 5th, 1980."

"What house were you sorted into?"

"As you know, Salazar's."

Lovegood slumped against the back of her seat. "Finally we're done with that. The last part is short."

To prepare for the upcoming fun he drained his now extremely cold drink and rolled his shoulders.  
"Were your answers truthful?"

"Yes. You're welcome."

"Why do you want to seek the truth?"

"I don't, but I think might need to."

Suddenly this list didn't seem so pointless. He felt drained. All that honesty was catching up to him. It probably didn't help he'd barely talked to anyone for over a decade. 

"And that's it. I just need a small bit of your blood here."

"My blood?" Not for the first time he wondered at the true nature of this document. 

"Yes. Blood. In this box. I have pin right here. I have to do it as well in the next one. I think it somehow triggers the spell."

He made no move to take the pin from her. There was no reason to need someone's blood at a job interview. He was pretty sure that hadn't changed during his ten years in Azkaban. 

"Lovegood, has anyone even passed this interview."

Her eyes darted away nervously and her shoulders slumped. "No. I mean it will say different things, but they all meant no. I promised Daddy and he's dead so I can't break that promise, but- I need help with Daddy's paper. I don't think it's making money and I can't seem to make the numbers work."

His stomach pinched with guilt. He hadn't taken the interview very seriously. He had merely been grateful for a momentarily distraction from his abysmal prospects. And now the girl who had smiled throughout her captivity in his childhood home looked uncomfortably close to tears. 

"Well we're not done yet. I'm going to finish the interview." It was his blood. There was no such thing as a little blood with magic, but he didn't have all that much to lose. 

There was no way he had passed though. He had no business working at the Quibbler. 

Luna pricked her finger and pressed it to the paper. He took the pin and did the same except the second his finger made contact lightening snaked up his arm. 

And then words started appearing at the bottom at the bottom of the page. 

_He'll do._

The words were written in script that was precise and brief. I looked nothing like Lovegood's which was floaty and all over the place. 

"It's never been so short. Normally it goes on for a few inches at least. A couple times it was nearly a foot. This is only two and a half words."

He didn't know what to say. He didn't think he was an ideal candidate for working at The Quibbler, but that probably wouldn't stop him from taking the job if she still wanted him to. 

She really just seemed disappointed at the length. Like she just been cheated out of a conversation with her father. A father she clearly adored. 

"Well," she said obviously a little mystified, "Would you like the job? You don't seem to be the most open minded or inclined to investigate anything, but Daddy said you were qualified. He would know, I guess."

Draco chuckled at her almost reluctance. "I thought you had a good feeling about me?" he teased. 

A blush danced across her cheeks. "Well I did. I still do. It's just I don't see how it will work. How will you help me find the unknown if you don't care to look for it?"

"I don't think you need help finding the unknown."

Of that he was sure. Although he wasn't entirely certain it was even a job interview. 

"Then what are you supposed to be doing?"

"I guess we'll just have to see." He probably shouldn't be doing this. Teasing her or whatever, but her clear confusion was so human when juxtaposed to her normal dauntless calm. 

In school he'd found her demeanor vaguely disturbing. She'd seemed inhuman, otherworldly, almost fae. 

And that air still hung off her, but it was faded and worn. Frayed at the edges. She seemed tired. 

It didn't suit her. 

He slid Lovegood a sidelong glance. "Why did you think I was here for an interview anyway?"

"I rented this booth for the week. It was supposed to be reserved for those looking to interview."  
Maybe that's why the waitress had smirked at him so smugly as she sat him. He wasn't clear on what she could have been looking to happen. Maybe she'd thought Lovegood would drive him off. 

"Where can I contact you?"

That was a good question. "Uh, I- I don't quite-"

"I know the Malfoy Manor has been dismantled. I assumed you would stay at a hotel or inn. Are you staying with a friend?"

He wasn't sure if he even had any friends. It'd been ten years. All his housemates, Pansy and Blaise, Theo, they would have moved on. Pansy's parents hadn't ever committed to the Dark Lord's cause so he knew she would have deliberately put him out of her mind at the war's end. 

"Draco?"

His concentration snapped. Lovegood was giving him a carefully concerned look. No one ever really called him by his first name aside from his parents and Pansy. It was jarring. 

"You do have somewhere to stay, right?"

"Apparently, my family owed the Ministry a great sum of money. I think they may have tacked on the crimes my parents had originally been exonerated of following the Dark Lord's disappearance."

"But your family had a net worth exceeding that of most small countries. Surely they couldn't take all it?"

He shrugged. "Well they couldn't take the land and after coffee and those horrid deserts I think I have about eight, nine knuts."

She gaped at him. "But there's no way war reparations could amount to that sum. Not for just 3 people."

"Well I didn't exactly have access to legal counsel. Frankly, I'm just glad they didn't think of some way to never let me out."

"Well, if want, you could stay with me. There's a guest room."

"Yeah, no. I don't think Scarhead would like that." He did not fancy a confrontation with Harry Potter. 

"He is not likely to notice. We do not talk much."

"I don't want your charity." Even if he probably needed it. 

"Then consider room and board as part of your pay. I can't afford to pay you much beyond that at the moment. Sales have been down."

Draco almost laughed at that. Had sales ever been up? "Well alright then." He didn't really have another option. 

She gave him a long considering look. "I don't suppose they returned your wand."

"Snapped it at my trial."

"Then we should go see Garrick. You need a wand, right?"

"Right." All things considered his situation was better than he had expected. "But is it really a good idea going to Ollivander."

"Our imprisonment was hardly your fault. You were as much a prisoner as we were."

That silenced his protests. He didn't quite agree, but really, it hadn't exactly been his idea to have them as 'guests'.

The wand shop was just down the street from the coffee shop. Diagon Alley was both familiar and strange. Most of the shops from his childhood were there, but they'd been remodeled. And new shops had crept up like weeds growing through cracks in the sidewalk. 

The wand shop was more cramped than he remembered. The ward maker seemed to be in the back. There were no other customers. 

Lovegood blithely entered the back. He reluctantly trailed behind her. He didn't feel comfortable as Lovegood clearly was. Obviously she kept in regular contact with the man that she had been imprisoned with. 

"Garrick. You'll never believe who I brought."

He winced. She seemed to think this encounter was not going to be horribly awkward. Although she probably couldn't notice being so strange herself. 

Finally they reached a dim room where Ollivander was at a bench hunched over a wand he was created. 

"Luna dear, I can hardly believe half the things you do." The man said this absently his attention clearly on his work. The wand sparked with a loud crack. Ollivander smiled and sat up clearly feeling satisfied. 

His smile slid off upon catching sight of him. "Luna why have you brought him here?"

"He needs a wand of course."

"There are other wand makers."

"Not in London. He actually passed Daddy's interview. He will be more helpful with a wand I would think."

The old man shot him a hard look. "He passed Xeno's interview?" Ollivander clearly didn't believe her. 

"Yes. I have it with me; you can see for yourself."

Ollivander studied the text intently for nearly an hour. Then his whole body seemed to relax. "It seems you weren't mistaken. He turned to Draco. "You truly weren't lying."

"No. And as I told, Lovegood, you're welcome."

He didn't appreciate skepticism when he had gone out of his way to avoid lying. But his snide retort just surprised the man into laughing of all things. "You just might do after all. Follow me. We need to find you a new wand."

The man's abrupt change in attitude was unnerving, but he figured he shouldn't question the change in his luck. 

Eventually he led them to a small room just off the one where he kept his wands. The doorway was hidden in plan sight by the shadows the tall shelves. 

This room was less cramped and it felt calmer than the rioting energies present in the other room. 

"I know just which wand. I made it over thirty years ago. It had been a tricky one. Here," Ollivander quickly plucked a box off a shelf so low it practically on the floor. It wasn't like when he'd been 11. The man didn't need to feel him out. 

"Pine, dragon claw core, 10 inches with a slight flex. Try it out."

Carefully he opened the box. The wand was almost perfectly straight. When he touched it, rather than spark, it vibrated and glowed briefly like an ember flaring in the breeze. "You said it has a dragon claw core?"

"Yes. Somewhat unusual. I only use the three cardinal cores for child wands, but adult wands allow for more variety as they don't have to be as accessible or accommodating."

"Adult wands?"

"It fell out of favor centuries ago, but it used to be common practice to get an adult wand upon coming of age. It does limit your scope. That wand would not be particularly well suited for advanced charms or transfigurations. It favors defensive to offensive spells. It's ideal for potions work. It favors neither light nor dark spells. It would serve you well in rune work or Arithmancy.

"Adult wands are less capricious. Their loyalty cannot be lost in a duel and rarely work for any other person."

"What kind of wand was the Elder Wand."

Ollivander's expression tightened. "It's a class all its own." He shook his head. 

When Luna went to pay the wand maker waved her off. "It's free of charge."

"Why?" Draco asked suspicious. 

Ollivander winked at him to his bewilderment. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

*******************************************************************************************

"Why did he do that?" Nothing ever came free. It was only a question of what the price had been and when the old man expected him to pay it. 

As he dusted the floo powder of his robes he took in his surroundings. Her house was a disaster.  
It reminded him of The Room of Hidden Things, but rounder. And somehow trying to be house. 

"I do not know. He had seemed so reluctant at first."

Until he read that _interview_. He must know more about it than Lovegood seemed to. Something that had him trading thinly veiled hostility for something decidedly more friendly. 

The man had seemed amused as if he was privy to some yet undelivered punch line. 

"Does he normally change his mind like that?"

"Not really. Daddy always said he was a good judge of character. That he would have to be to match people to their wands. I guess he decided that maybe you were not who one might expect you to be."

Her eyes were faraway like a just forgotten dream. Her brows were together in thought, but the tight lines of worry had faded from the corner of her eyes. It was when she looked like this that he was afraid of what she saw. 

He didn't know who he was. How could Ollivander know anything about him? Why did Lovegood seem to trust him?

Sure she seemed to trust everyone indiscriminately. She had never seemed to suspect that it was her housemates taking her things. But people didn't trust Malfoys. She shouldn't trust him. 

He could hurt her. He had no intentions of doing so, but that was no guarantee. 

His head was starting to hurt. Time to distract himself. He never saw much merit in introspection. 

"What kind of wand did you get Lovegood?"

"Cypress, amber core, eight inches, twisty. It's much easier to put in my hair than the one your aunt took."

Sure enough now that he knew to look he could see her semi-elaborate twist was centered on some knobby wood. 

"Garrick said it's a carefree wand well suited to shifting rapidly between dissimilar tasks. It responds well to nature oriented tasks. It handles intricate charms and runes with ease. It's good for offensive spells, but lacks precision in them. It's produces abnormal and irregular results in potions and transfigurations. And I don't have to hold it to use it. I just do the wand movements with my hand."

It fit her. 

"Your house has a certain charm to it." Mother would be proud. He sounded sincere. The words might even be true under the clutter. 

Lovegood beamed at him. "Thank you. Although," her smile became rueful, "It is a bit of a mess. I am not the most organized. I always forget where to put things. Daddy said Mama was like that. I do not remember noticing it. When Daddy was alive I always knew where to find things though."

Draco was somewhat surprised that it was Lovegood's father providing order, but he was starting to suspect that the man hadn't been as crazy as he'd assumed. Which was a thought with terrifying implications. Would it then follow that all those made-up creatures actually existed? 

Earlier Lovegood had been nattering on about some creature called a niggle that crawled into one's ears and disrupted cognition by emitting a certain frequency. They sounded disgusting. 

"Draco, is something bothering you?" Lovegood was- moving things around. Maybe she was trying to tidy up, but it seemed to be making it worse. Watching was making his head hurt. 

"I was just thinking about those niggle things."

"Niggles?!" she practically shrieked. In an instant she was across the room clutching at his forearms, a great deal farther into his personal space than he was comfortable with. 

"Er, yes?" She hadn't seemed this excited when mentioning them to Ollivander earlier. 

"Where did you see them? Was it in Azkaban? How many were there? Did one of them at any point make a noise like a giggling hippogriff? You did not happen to smell fudge, did you?"

He stared at her nonplussed. "You were the one that mentioned them earlier."

Her excitement evaporated. "I mentioned them earlier," she murmured wonderingly. "Oh! Did you mean to say nargle?"

"Possibly." How the bloody hell was he supposed to know?

Absently she relinquished her hold on him. "Nargles are much more common. Unlike niggles they can't be seen by the human eye. Try not to dwell on them though. That attracts them."

"Great." Now he couldn't stop thinking about the blasted things. 

"Oh, you must be hungry. I have some Plimpy Soup. Do you prefer yours hot or cold?"

"Whichever way you think is best." What was a plimpy? And, more importantly, did he really want to know?

"I caught them on a sunny day so hot would probably be best."

These things were creatures of some sort? "Sounds logical." In a way. 

Hot plimpy soup tasted as horrid as it sounded. He could imagine how much worse it was cold. Although it wasn't inedible. 

"Sorry for..." The words were quiet and soft. Lovegood vaguely gestured to the bowls on the kitchen table and the stove and their general vicinity. 

Some people may have smiled reassuringly, but Draco didn't really go around smiling or giving people reassurance. Father always said one must understand their weaknesses. 

"It's better than Azkaban food."

"I suppose that's something. I'm not a very good cook. Daddy wasn't either. I try to be creative, but that never seems to work out."

Draco had heard she'd had a similar approach for potion making. The only thing she had on Longbottom in that department was confidence. Which only meant she achieved her disastrous results quicker and with less apprehension _on her part_. 

They finished their soup in silence. He ended up getting seconds due to his hunger. Fortunately his tongue became numb to the taste before he even finished the first bowl. At least he didn't have to eat without breathing through his nose. Azkaban food consumption often required that. 

The guest room unlike rest of the house was uncluttered and organized in a way he could actually understand. It also clearly wasn't a guest bedroom, but her father's old bedroom. 

"This was Daddy's room. It may be a little dusty; I don't go in here much. He didn't like to be disturbed when he was here. He did business downstairs, but here was where he did his thinking. Anyway, you're welcome to read any of the books on the shelves. Daddy was shorter than you, but not too skinny. His clothes would probably fit you well enough. If you need anything I'm the next floor. Bathroom is across the hall."

"Thanks. I hope you sleep well, I guess." His parents never really said goodnight. His mum had always told him how much she loved him; His father would just remind him of what he wanted Draco to do the next day. He couldn't be like his mum, and his father's way didn't seem too right either. 

"You too Draco Malfoy. See you in the morning."

He saw her start up the stairs, but her steps were silent. Just like in school she walked like a bloody ghost. Or like the therestrals that made no sound on the way to Hogwarts. 

He couldn't help but wonder what would come of this.


End file.
